


Dead!

by leontina (Leontina)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/pseuds/leontina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a new student amongst the eighth years. He’s good friends with Draco, well-liked by all of Harry’s friends, and is the spitting image of Tom Riddle. Harry never could resist an opportunity for stalking and investigating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead!

  
***

  
  
  
Hermione was the first to notice him.  
  
“Who’s that sitting with Malfoy?” she queried out loud, narrowing her eyes as she tried to focus on the table the other side of the Great Hall. “I’ve never seen him before.”  
  
Harry twisted around in his seat to spy on the Slytherin table, easily spotting Malfoy’s distinctive white-blond hair. The other Slytherins had given Malfoy a wide berth - all but two of them. One of those was Millicent Bulstrode who didn’t look too pleased with the situation, and the other was a male, tall and dark-haired, sitting opposite Malfoy who seemed to be smiling at something his male companion had said.  
  
Ron asked the obvious question before Harry could. “How do you know you’ve never seen him before? All we can see is the back of his head.”  
  
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “All the younger Slytherins are scared of Malfoy - even the seventh years - and he’s not from our year.”  
  
Harry leaned back from his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the stranger’s face. He didn’t manage it, nearly falling off the bench in the process instead. Malfoy must have spotted Harry’s movements because he waved at him sarcastically from across the hall before flipping him the finger; even then the stranger didn’t turn around.  
  
“Maybe Malfoy’s got a bodyguard,” Harry suggested, begrudgingly turning back to his own table when his neck started to ache.  
  
“I reckon he’s gonna need one,” Ron said darkly, glancing at Romilda Vane and her group of friends who were eyeing the Slytherin table with obvious contempt. “If most of them weren’t gits I’d feel sorry for the Slytherins.”  
  
“I don’t think he’s a bodyguard; he’s in uniform,” Hermione pointed out.  
  
With little to go on they quickly lost interest in Malfoy and the stranger, and the conversation turned to the upcoming N.E.W.Ts - Hermione had managed to take the lead, clearly.  
  
When dessert had finished, Hermione quickly jumped to her feet, taking Harry and Ron both by surprise.  
  
“Isn’t it a bit early in the year to be rushing to the library?” Ron asked with a frown, sounding very concerned indeed.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, do you not read the letters they send us? Eighth years get their own dorm because there isn’t enough room in the house ones. There’s going to be two to a room, and I need to get there early to make sure I’m not left with Millicent.”  
  
On cue, Harry and Ron both turned to look towards the heavyset girl, who was wrapping up a slice of cake in a napkin.  
  
“Fair enough,” Ron said, and he and Harry stood as well.  
  
Ginny was chatting to Luna and Neville by the doorway. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached them, Ginny’s gaze swept casually over to the Slytherin side of the hall.  
  
Almost immediately the blood drained from her face and her entire body tensed. Ron sprinted towards his sister as she stumbled against the wall, clutching at her chest; when Harry looked across the room he froze, instantly spotting what had caused such a severe reaction in Ginny.  
  
Malfoy was walking towards the doors with his mysterious companion - who was pale, had razor-sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and was the spitting image of Tom Riddle. Malfoy sneered at Harry as he walked past him, but Harry barely noticed him, staring in horror as the Riddle lookalike looked him up and down and _smiled_ at him before leaving the Great Hall.  
  
“I’m fine, Ron,” Ginny was saying, and she was upon Harry suddenly, clutching onto his shoulders and going on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “You saw it, too, right?”  
  
Harry nodded. “I’ll sort it out, Gin,” he promised.  
  
Then he started running, pushing past some startled second-years as he sprinted to McGonagall’s office.  
  
“Harry! Slow down!” Hermione shouted behind him, and trust his friends to follow him even in a manic sprinting session. It was good though; he’d need their support.  
  
It was only when Harry reached the gargoyle that he realised he didn’t know the password; he couldn’t even guess types of sweets anymore.  
  
“Let me in!” he begged the statue. “It’s an emergency!”  
  
The gargoyle didn’t budge.  
  
Ron and Hermione caught up at last.  
  
“What the hell’s going on, Harry?” Ron exclaimed, his stance wide and his arms folded across his chest - he’d make a great Auror some day. “First Ginny, now you!”  
  
“It’s Tom Riddle - the new bloke - he’s Tom Riddle!”  
  
Harry expected a dramatic reaction from his announcement. Ron’s eyes would bulge and he’d look around nervously, while Hermione would gasp and clap her hand over her mouth.  
  
What Harry didn’t expect - or appreciate - was for Ron and Hermione to exchange a weary look.  
  
Hermione glanced around the empty hallway and lowered her voice. “Did we definitely destroy all of the Horcruxes?”  
  
“I think so,” Harry said with a frantic nod. “Dumbledore said Voldemort would have specifically wanted his soul split into seven for the magical strength of the number, and when he died it was very...mortal.”  
  
Ron and Hermione exchanged the weary look again.  
  
“You don’t believe me,” Harry stated quietly; Hermione had the decency to look away.  
  
“If we destroyed V-Vol-Voldemort,” Ron stammered, “then how could Riddle be here?”  
  
“Harry, you and Ginny have both suffered trauma involving Riddle,” Hermione said gently, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder and drawing it back hastily when he glared at her. “This student may just _look_ like Riddle, but that could be enough to trigger reactions from you both.”  
  
Harry desperately needed to speak to someone higher up.  
  
He grabbed the wings of the gargoyle, ignoring his useless friends, and made shaking movements that had absolutely no effect on the statue.  
  
“Let me in!” he growled, jerking out of Ron’s grip when Ron tried to stop him.  
  
“Mr Potter! Is there any need?!” came McGonagall’s voice, her heels clacking on the stone floor. “Merlin, term hasn’t even started yet… _Vera Verto_.”  
  
The gargoyle opened up, and McGonagall gestured for Harry to follow her up the staircase.  
  
“I’m sorry, Professor,” Hermione said once they reached the top. “I’ve tried to reassure Harry-”  
  
Harry scowled. “No you didn’t. Professor, that new student in Slytherin; he looks exactly like Tom Riddle. Ginny sees it too.”  
  
McGonagall blinked, and several portraits began muttering under their breath; Harry picked up the word _delusional_ several times.  
  
“Tom Riddle is dead,” McGonagall said plainly, sighing as she took a seat at her desk. “ _Milo Tredd_ ,” McGonagall emphasised, “and his family have returned to Britain after several years living in Sweden. He previously studied at Durmstrang, but has chosen to go to a school closer to home this year. He missed his last year of schooling due to illness, so I believed putting him in your year was preferable to being with the seventh years.”  
  
McGonagall opened one of the drawers, pointing her wand into it and Summoning several pieces of parchment. She slid them across the table to Harry, who saw that they were lists of grades for several years, and teacher’s reports, and clipped to the top was a photograph of _Milo_ , who smiled and waved along with a man and a woman who looked enough like him to be his parents.  
  
“These are the files Durmstrang sent me about Mr Tredd. You’re not supposed to see them, but if it eases your worries...Dumbledore’s portrait has spoken to the young man, as well, and I’m sure he’d have commented if he believed Mr Tredd to be Riddle.”  
  
Harry knew that he should be relieved that the evidence was strongly against Harry’s suspicions, and that Dumbledore himself hadn’t been worried, but Harry still couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The resemblance between Milo and Riddle was too uncanny, and maybe if they weren’t the same person they were at least related in some way; Harry knew he’d have to keep an eye on Milo if no-one else would.  
  
McGonagall smiled at Harry sadly as she took the parchment back. “Mr Potter, there will be an announcement at breakfast tomorrow, but I’d like to let you know that I’ve hired a renowned therapist to provide group therapy sessions for students. There will be one on a Thursday night for sixth years and up, and I think you would truly benefit from going.”  
  
“I’ll think about it,” Harry lied.  
  
McGonagall looked at him darkly as though she had seen right through him, but she didn’t comment. “I ask that you go straight to your new dormitory now. You may have privileges as eighth years but you still need to follow the school rules.” McGonagall allowed herself a small smile. “Besides, if you’re lucky you’ll still have a choice in which room you get.”  
  
Hermione was quick to leave after that, and Ron and Harry struggled to keep up with her.  
  
The eighth year dorm was situated on the third floor, hidden behind a portrait of a portly house-elf.  
  
The common room wasn’t as cosy as the Gryffindor one. The fireplace was small and there were only two sofas in front of it, cream coloured - Harry supposed they would have wanted to go for a neutral colour. The rest of the chairs were wooden and placed around small round tables, as though they expected eighth years to spend all of their time studying.  
  
There were two doorways which led to the bedrooms. Hermione hurried through the door which had ‘women’ carved onto the front, while Harry and Ron went through the one that said ‘men’.  
  
It led to a hallway which had several doors on each side, and finished in another common room, smaller than the first but looking much comfier, with sofas and armchairs, and a Wireless which was currently playing the Weird Sisters.  
  
Neville and Dean were the only two sat there, and they waved Harry and Ron over when they spotted them.  
  
“We’ve been waiting up for you,” Neville said. “We managed to get you a room together; Justin and Michael were arguing about who got to share with Harry.”  
  
“You should have made them battle it out,” Ron suggested, grinning widely. “Which room is ours?”  
  
At this, Dean and Neville shared a look.  
  
“Oh, what?!” Ron exclaimed.  
  
“It’s nothing bad,” Dean said hastily. “It’s just that there’s five rooms and three bathrooms. Neville and I got here first so we got the room with the private bathroom, and the others didn’t want to share with Malfoy and that new bloke so…”  
  
“Great,” Ron muttered under his breath. “Just what I always wanted, to risk blinding myself by seeing Malfoy in the nude.”  
  
A sudden image of Malfoy in the shower popped into Harry’s head, and he shifted from foot to foot, hoping nobody noticed that his cheeks had become red and hot. It was probably just second-hand embarrassment, Harry was sure.  
  
Their bedroom was simple but pleasant; with two large four-poster beds, two desks with a chair at each, and a window looking out towards the Forbidden Forest.  
  
While Ron popped off to see Hermione - boys could get into the girl’s dorm now, much to Ron’s delight - Harry sorted through his trunk until he heard a knock at the door.  
  
Expecting it to be Neville or Dean, or maybe even Justin, Harry didn’t look up as he shouted, “come in.”  
  
He only noticed something was up when the door opened but the knocker remained silent.  
  
Harry looked up, dropping his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages in shock when he saw Milo Tredd standing in the doorway.  
  
“Hello,” Milo said. “I just wanted to come and introduce myself; I’m Milo.”  
  
“I know,” Harry mumbled as he jumped to his feet. “I mean, I’ve heard…” He waved his hand in dismissal, forcing himself to laugh and inwardly wincing when it came out just a bit too high-pitched.  
  
“I know all about you, of course, Harry,” Milo drawled, stepping into the room to stand in front of Harry, and Harry was pleased that he managed not to take a step back.  
  
Because Merlin, Milo was tall - taller than even Ron. Harry had to look up to see him properly at the close distance.  
  
“Draco talks about you a lot,” Milo pressed on. “It’s always ‘Potter this’ and ‘Potter that’. I can see why you’d be on his mind so much; you’re rather striking.”  
  
Harry didn’t even care that his mouth was hanging open. “What?” he said stupidly.  
  
Milo smiled, flashing white, perfectly straight teeth. “It’s late, so I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see you at breakfast.”  
  
He made a point of looking Harry up and down before going, leaving Harry gaping, frozen in place.  
  
Harry had expected a sneering, bullying, evil Malfoy-sort, not a flirty, supermodel type. Maybe, Harry thought, he was actually asleep and this was just a vivid dream.  
  
Either way, collapsing into bed was looking very appealing right now.  
  


  
***

  
  
  
The following morning, Harry got to breakfast early so he could get a seat on the bench which faced the Slytherin table.  
  
Malfoy and Milo weren’t up yet, so he pretended to slowly read the morning’s _Prophet_ and feigned taking small sips of his pumpkin juice. He had planned to start pouring milk over his cereal when Ron and Hermione arrived so it didn’t look like he’d actually been sat there for half an hour, but Hermione’s stormy expression as she approached stopped Harry in his tracks.  
  
“Morning,” Harry said cautiously, throwing a questioning look at Ron as Hermione dropped her bag forcefully on the table, almost knocking over Harry’s glass over until he caught it. “Is something wrong?”  
  
Ron looked relieved when Neville came into the hall, and he ran over to greet him, leaving Harry alone with Hermione.  
  
“Millicent Bulstrode is my roommate,” Hermione stated, buttering her toast so roughly that far too many crumbs fell from the bread and dirtied the table. “Padma told me this morning that she had wanted to share a room with me, but when I didn’t turn up after the Feast she assumed I must still be sleeping in Gryffindor.”  
  
That explained Hermione’s anger towards him. “I didn’t make you come with me to see McGonagall,” Harry pointed out, but it was evidently the wrong thing to say.  
  
“Well excuse me for being a concerned friend,” Hermione snapped.  
  
Ron, who had nearly reached them again, turned around and introduced himself to a small Hufflepuff he had almost walked into.  
  
It was easier for Harry to take the blame. “Is Bulstrode really that bad?”  
  
Hermione’s expression softened a little bit. “Sorry, Harry; I just didn’t sleep well last night. Millicent’s...unnerving. She’s quiet, and she spent ages just watching me while I sorted through my stuff. And then in the middle of the night I could just hear her walking around the room.”  
  
Malfoy and Milo walked through the doors then, pressed closely together, with Milo leaning down as he spoke to a sneering Malfoy.  
  
“Are you sure you’re just not being paranoid?” Harry couldn’t help himself from bitterly saying.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, looking behind her to watch Malfoy and Milo for a moment.  
  
“You know, he came to talk to me last night,” Harry said, nodding solemnly.  
  
“Who?” Ron had deemed it safe to return, sitting beside Hermione and grabbing a bread roll.  
  
“That new guy; Milo,” Harry answered darkly, and Ron and Hermione exchanged a look again. They were doing it so often, Harry really ought to refer to it as _the_ look.  
  
“And you still think he’s evil?” Hermione guessed with a sigh.  
  
“He’s just...unnerving,” he said, mimicking Hermione’s choice of words regarding Bulstrode. “He didn’t really say much, but I think he was _flirting_ with me; he said I was striking.”  
  
Ron tilted his head, staring through narrowed eyes at Harry. “You take someone flirting with you as a bad thing?” he finally asked. “Really?”  
  
“And he’s really tall,” Harry added, but if he had thought that would gain him sympathy then he was very much mistaken.  
  
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “So your basis for finding him unnerving is that he’s flattering and tall?”  
  
“But he’s like Voldemort-tall,” Harry protested hotly, hissing as he lowered his voice. “He doesn’t just look like Riddle; he’s the same height.”  
  
“A lot of people are tall, Harry,” Hermione said plainly, gesturing at Ron.  
  
“I spoke to him by the showers this morning,” Ron added, seeming pleased by Hermione’s hum of approval. “He seems a nice enough bloke; he said he heard I play a good game of chess and did I fancy playing him one day. The only unnerving thing is what’s a guy like that doing spending time with Malfoy?”  
  
“Ron!” Hermione hissed, throwing her hands in the air in defeat.  
  
Harry rounded on Ron. “What? You think he and Malfoy might be up to something?”  
  
Ron’s mouth fell open, and he quickly shook his head. “No! I didn’t-”  
  
“Harry,” Hermione said firmly, fixing him with a disapproving look. “Voldemort is gone. You don’t need to stalk Malfoy again. Just enjoy the peace and...oh, hello, Millicent.”  
  
Bulstrode had appeared silently, her large frame hidden by dark robes.  
  
“Granger,” she said, her voice quieter and gentler than Harry had expected. When he thought back, he realised he’d never actually heard her speak before. “Crookshanks was pestering when I was giving Eris her breakfast, so I gave him some biscuits and he really enjoyed them. They’re _Grizabella’s Special Recipe_ ; you can owl-order them from Grizabella herself, in Hogsmeade.”  
  
Bulstrode didn’t make eye contact with any of them while she spoke, and when she finished she nodded in satisfaction that her message had been delivered and walked off, leaving Hermione wide-eyed.  
  
“Merlin, she’s poisoned Crookshanks,” Hermione gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. “Do you think Professor Slughorn will have a bezoar small enough for cats?”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “Now who’s being paranoid? Why would Bulstrode tell you she’s fed him if she’s poisoned him? It will put the blame straight on her.”  
  
“Or maybe...” Ron said slowly. “Maybe that’s what she wants you to think; that you’ll think she’d never be stupid enough to admit it so you put it down to an accident.”  
  
Hermione banged against the table in her haste to stand up, and Ron quickly followed suit.  
  
“Save us a seat in class, Harry,” Hermione said as she hurried off with Ron close behind.  
  
And they had the nerve to call him paranoid!  
  
He thought back to what Ron had said; that Malfoy and Milo were an odd pair. Harry instinctively looked over at them, and saw that they were sat side-by-side, leaning in to one another as they spoke. They were so close that their foreheads were almost touching, and their hands on the table looked rather intimate as well.  
  
Harry felt his face flush, and he tugged a finger under his collar uncomfortably. He froze when Malfoy and Milo both looked at up at the same time, catching his gaze. They gave him an identical smirk and then looked away; Harry jumped up from the table so fast that his glass of pumpkin juice finally did fall over, splashing his trousers and the floor with cold liquid.  
  
He gasped at the cold and jumped back, drawing attention from many of the students in the hall, including the two Harry would rather not have looking at him.  
  
Malfoy said something to Milo and they both laughed, neither of them taking their eyes off Harry.  
  
He could still feel their gaze on his back, long after he left the hall.  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Harry ended up being later to class than even Ron and Hermione.  
  
He found that he couldn’t walk down a single corridor without being accosted by students who wanted to thank him, ask him on dates, or unload their emotions on him.  
  
“He’s in a better place now,” Harry muttered, half-heartedly patting the sobbing girl on the shoulder. “He sounded like a lovely hamster. Now, I really need to get to class, sorry.”  
  
He made it to Charms class with a minute spare.  
  
Ron and Hermione were sat at the front, with Neville and a spare seat at the desk next to theirs. Harry smiled and started to walk over to them when he heard Malfoy laugh.  
  
Malfoy was sat at the desk by a window, the morning sunlight glinting off his white-blond hair and giving Malfoy an ethereal glow. But if Malfoy looked like an angel, then Milo Tredd was surely a demon.  
  
There wasn’t anything inherently evil about Milo; it was just the fact that he looked like a resurrected Tom Riddle. He was sat beside Malfoy, so close that Harry was sure their legs must be touching. An image jumped to the front of Harry’s mind, of Malfoy’s firm and slender thighs wrapped in the tight fabric of his school trousers, and he felt his cheeks flush in response.  
  
Milo leaned in to talk to Malfoy who laughed again, and both fixed their eyes on Harry.  
  
Well, that made his mind up.  
  
He ignored Hermione’s eye-roll and Ron’s furrowed brows, walking over to the desk behind Malfoy and Milo. He tried very hard not to look at them as he walked past them, trying to act casual, but he just couldn’t help but glance at how their hands on the table were only inches apart.  
  
All through Charms class, Harry watched how Malfoy and Milo stayed joined-at-the-hip, talking quietly so nobody else could hear them. At one point Milo even put his arm across the back of Malfoy’s chair!  
  
Ron’s theory made more and more sense the more Harry thought about it. He didn’t think Malfoy was up to anything - he had proved time and time again that he was all talk and not actually cut out for doing evil - but Milo being so friendly with him was very suspicious.  
  
Malfoy was the only student in school with the Dark Mark, and - apart from Harry - the one with the closest ties to the Dark Lord. If Harry was a resurrected Dark Lord, he’d chose to spend time with the person most likely to support him.  
  
No, Malfoy wasn’t evil, but Tom Riddle had charmed many a person into doing Dark deeds. And if nobody else believed Harry, he’d have to save Malfoy himself.  
  
When the bell rang, signalling the end of class, Milo and Malfoy were the first to leave, pressed tightly together as they had been all morning.  
  
Harry craned his neck to look at them round the other students as they left. A cough echoed to his side, and when he turned he met Bulstrode’s gaze. She dropped her eyes to Malfoy’s arse right before he left the classroom, then looked back at Harry with a smirk on her face.  
  
Harry could practically feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. “I wasn’t-” he protested as Bulstrode walked away, but she had no intention of staying and listening to his defence.  
  
Padma Patil laughed at him as she walked by, giving him a wink, and he almost wished his classmates hero-worshipped him like the rest of the school - at least then they wouldn’t dream of teasing him over things that really shouldn’t be teased about.  
  
That wish lasted for as long as it took him to go into the corridor with Ron, where he was soon accosted for autographs for a group of third-years who had apparently been waiting for him to leave.  
  
“Sorry, kids,” Ron declared as he hooked his arm with Harry’s and started to walk them down the hallway. “I have a big family and they _all_ wanted signed photos; afraid they’ve all gone for now.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry said greatfully. “I wish they’d all just leave me alone.”  
  
“You’re not getting rid of me, I’m afraid. I wasn’t joking about the signed photos for my family,” Ron grinned. “We have a study break while Hermione’s in Arithmancy, then she wants to meet us in the Gryffindor common room. For old time’s sake, I think.”  
  
Harry thought nothing of it, until time passed and he found himself following Ron through the portrait of the Fat Lady and saw Hermione, Neville, Ginny,and Hannah Abbott, sat in a circle of armchairs.  
  
“Hello, Harry,” Hermione smiled, gesturing to an empty chair. “Would you like to sit down and join us?”  
  
It was clinical, even for Hermione, and Ron was refusing to meet Harry’s eyes.  
  
“What’s going on?” he asked uncertainly as he sank into what used to be his favourite chair by the fire. The fire wasn’t lit, though, and the concerned looks on his friend’s faces weren’t very comforting. “Why is Hannah here? No offence, but-”  
  
“Hannah’s here because she sat with Neville in Charms when you didn’t, and so became part of our conversation,” Hermione answered, and Neville gave Hannah an encouraging smile.  
  
“Harry, we’re all very concerned about you,” Hermione pressed on. Numerous heads nodded in agreement. “This thing with Milo-”  
  
“Ginny sees it, too!” Harry protested angrily. “Don’t you, Ginny?”  
  
Ginny looked pale and she had dark circles under her eyes like she hadn’t slept all night, but she shrugged. “I see it, yeah, but Hermione told me all about the documentation and I just don’t see how that can be faked - people have known him for years. And Luna was saying that there’s a handful of people who will look the same, even if they’re not related; made from the same stardust, she says.”  
  
“I don’t know about the stardust theory,” Hermione derided. “But even Muggles believe lookalikes are a thing. And it’s not so much about Milo, it’s more that you’re so…”  
  
“Paranoid,” Ron finished. His eyes were heavy, as dark as they had been in the first couple of weeks after Fred’s death, and it was that which stopped Harry arguing. “Look, mate; I know you’ve been through a lot, and that’s bound to have had some… _effects_.”  
  
“I have nightmares, Harry,” Neville put in. “And when I see Slytherins who were treated well by the Carrows, I just get filled with this rage that I can’t control; it’s nothing to be ashamed of if you’re struggling.”  
  
Harry started to defend himself. “I’m not-” but Hannah cut him off.  
  
“I went to Muggle therapy after my mother died,” she said softly, placing her hand gently on his. It was a tender touch, like one he’d never known before, except maybe in forgotten memories of his mother. “I didn’t think things would ever be the same again, and they’re not, but it’s _better_. Therapy was the best thing I could have done.”  
  
Hermione took the reigns of the conversation again. “Harry, if you want to fixate on Milo as a coping mechanism then go ahead, but as your friends, we implore you to go to that group therapy that Professor McGonagall’s organised. I know you’re in denial and don’t want to go, but we all believe it will do you the world of good. What do you think?”  
  
What Harry _thought_ , was that he was fine and his friends should really learn to mind their own business.  
  
But when he looked at them, he saw their sad eyes and strained smiles, how their gaze flickered to his bony wrists and his chapped lips which he kept tearing with his teeth…  
  
“If you really want me to go,” Harry said. “I’ll go.”  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Ceri was a Welsh wizard, trained in Muggle psychology, who McGonagall had hired to provide therapy for the students of Hogwarts. He wore a Muggle band t-shirt and jeans under his robes, and had his hair gelled into soft spikes.  
  
Ceri introduced himself by saying that he didn’t believe in surnames, and he wanted them all to pretend that they had never met each other before.  
  
There were only a handful of them there - Harry only recognised Millicent Bulstrode and Justin Finch-Fletchley from his year - and they had been told to sit in a circle.  
  
“We’re going to go around the group,” Ceri said, his voice soft and soothing, “and I want you to tell everyone your name and some of the feelings that you’ve been experiencing lately. Remember, this is a safe place where you can say anything you want; there is no judgement here.”  
  
Listening to Ceri almost made that believable, but it was the skeptical look on some of the student’s faces which gave Harry doubt. Still, they had signed a magically binding confidentiality clause as they entered the classroom where the therapy was being held, so they could judge Harry all they wanted but they wouldn’t be able to gossip about it afterwards.  
  
And so they went around the circle, and a lot of the same feelings kept coming up: anxious, angry, sad, confused. Bulstrode very quietly mumbled that she felt anxious and fat, and Harry felt a stab of pity for her. He had assumed that because she had no problem being physical, like the time she had wrestled Hermione when they should have been duelling, that Bulstrode was confident and arrogant like most of her Slytherin friends.  
  
“I’m Harry,” he said when it got to his turn. “I feel guilty and...paranoid, apparently.” He couldn’t help but add that last bit bitterly, and to his surprise Ceri didn’t call him out on it.  
  
“Apparently isn’t a bad thing,” Ceri mused, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “Maybe you are paranoid, maybe you’re not, but if you’re aware of the _possibility_ then that’s the important thing. Oh, hello; are you here to join us?”  
  
Everyone twisted in their seats to see the door, and Harry felt his stomach flip when he saw Malfoy in the doorway.  
  
“We were just introducing ourselves and explaining some of our feelings,” Ceri filled Malfoy in as he grabbed a chair from the side of the room and dragged it to the circle, fitting in between Harry and a seventh year boy. “We’re acting like nobody here knows each other, and no surnames please. We’re all equals here.”  
  
Malfoy shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his palm over his left arm. Harry wondered what the Dark Mark looked like beneath the sleeves, if it was still black or if it had faded to a pale pink scar yet.  
  
“I’m Draco,” Draco said at Ceri’s prompting. “I feel...hated. And hatred.”  
  
“So you should,” a sixth year hissed, shrinking back when Ceri rounded on them.  
  
“Nobody deserves to feel anything bad,” he said warningly. “But sometimes we do feel bad, and that’s why we’re here.”  
  
Ceri pulled a small toy rabbit from his pocket and held it into the air. “For the first few sessions we’re going to talk more about how we’re feeling. The only person allowed to speak is the one holding this rabbit at any moment. If you wish to give advice or support after the person’s finished speaking, you raise your hand and the person will pass the rabbit on. Now, who wants to go first? You can say as much or as little as you like - nothing’s off limits.”  
  
Nobody moved. A few students shared looks and then looked back down, hardly daring to breathe in case Ceri picked on them to start.  
  
Just as Harry was preparing to make the first move, Malfoy beat him to it.  
  
Ceri threw the toy rabbit over to him and Malfoy caught it easily.  
  
“I don’t quite know where to start,” Malfoy murmured, and Ceri simply gave him an encouraging smile. “I guess...there was a time when I used to hate Potter - I even thought he was my enemy. But then the Dark Lord came into my life and I learnt what true hatred was. I despised every fibre of his being but I took his Mark anyway, and now that’s all people see when they look at me. I know they must wonder how I can claim to hate him, but I did. That doesn’t matter to anyone, though, and I feel everyone’s eyes on me in the corridors, like taking the Mark is a valid reason to hate me - I never even did anything wrong; I was too much of a coward for that.”  
  
“You let Death Eaters into Hogwarts,” a girl interjected, folding her arms across her chest angrily when Ceri shot her a dark look.  
  
“If he did, you don’t know about it because you’ve never seen him before,” Ceri said sternly. “Whether you want to forgive or not is up to you, but we all need to support each other here. And remember the rabbit system. Go on, Draco.”  
  
“I’m done,” Malfoy muttered, shrugging. He was sat right at the edge of his seat, gripping so hard around the toy that his knuckles had turned white.  
  
“Does anyone have anything _positive_ they’d like to say?” Ceri offered.  
  
Again, nobody moved, and this time there was nobody to beat Harry raising their hand.  
  
Ceri smiled at him, and when Malfoy thrust the rabbit at him their fingers brushed. For a brief second Harry felt the warmth of Malfoy’s skin, but Malfoy quickly pulled his hand back as if the heat was too much.  
  
Harry idly swung the toy rabbit by its ears, humming as he wondered where to start. “I just think that, you know, I find it weird how people hate Malfoy- er, Draco - but not me. Draco’s done lots of little bad things and one or two very bad things, whereas I’ve done _lots_ of very bad things. I’ve killed a man - technically Voldemort’s spell backfired on him, but I set it up so he could die. I robbed a bank and broke into several buildings, not to mention all the illegal spells...but they call me a hero. I told Kingsley Shacklebolt everything and he said bad things are necessary in war. They say everything I did was for the good of the community, but Mal- Draco was doing it for his family; they were going to be killed if he didn’t do as Voldemort said. How many good people do bad deeds have to benefit before they’re classed as good deeds? I don’t know, it’s just not fair that people judge you for the Dark Mark without knowing your circumstances.”  
  
The last bit he said to Draco directly, offering him a small smile. And while Harry wasn’t going to forgive every Death Eater who claimed a sob story, Draco was different; Harry _knew_ him.  
  
The rabbit was passed on to another student who spoke about his grief over losing his best friend, and Harry and Draco didn’t speak again.  
  
Harry’s hand had dropped to his side, and he jumped when he felt Draco’s hand brush against it briefly. Draco was staring at the boy speaking, determinedly not looking at Harry, but the backs of their hands were very nearly touching. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off them.  
  
The hour was up before he knew it, and Harry had to hurry after Draco after he shot up as soon as they were dismissed.  
  
“Draco!” Harry called, surprised when Draco actually stopped.  
  
“You’re a good puppy,” Draco commented without malice. “They tell you to forget last names so you do.”  
  
“Ceri has a point; last names are too ingrained with pure-blood mania now,” Harry pointed out. “But I want to talk to you a minute.”  
  
“Be quick, _Harry_ ,” Draco said with a roll of his tongue, like Harry’s name was poison on his lips. “Milo’s waiting for me.”  
  
Harry had forgotten about Milo.  
  
“I want to put the past behind us,” Harry blurted out, lest he say anything to Draco about his new-found friend. Harry had to play this carefully, so Draco didn’t sneer and reject Hary. “I’m not saying we have to be friends; I just want a clean slate between us.”  
  
While part of Harry did want to try and stop Draco being manipulated by Milo, there was another part of him that wanted to not be _rivals_ anymore. As Draco had said, they had both learnt true hatred when Voldemort infiltrated their lives, and while they had both hurt each other, they had also both saved each other. It was time to make amends.  
  
Draco considered Harry thoughtfully.  
  
“Alright,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “I suppose if you don’t hate me your legions of fans will fall in line.”  
  
“I don’t have-” Harry started to protest, trailing off with a groan as a group of fourth year girls spotted him and waved enthusiastically.  
  
“Hiya, Harry,” one said cheerfully. “Do you want to hang out?”  
  
“Isn’t it almost curfew for you?” Draco retorted, tapping on his wrist despite not having a watch.  
  
The girls muttered under their breath but thankfully walked off.  
  
“Thanks,” Harry grinned. “Looks like you’re quite helpful to save me from my legions of fans.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, but he very nearly smiled back at Harry. “I’ll see you around.”  
  
Harry was almost back at the dorms when he realised he had the answer to the Milo-slash-Tom debate - the Marauder’s Map!  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Lying in bed and studying the Marauder’s Map, Harry decided it was obviously dysfunctional.  
  
But even as he looked down at the name next to the dot which read _Milo Tredd_ , Harry could hear Sirius in his head saying, “the map never lies.”  
  
Although, if there was one wizard who’d be able to trick the map, it would be Voldemort.  
  
Harry groaned, pressing the map to his face in defeat.  
  
He knew that all the signs were against him - the school documents, the photos, and now the map - but Harry still felt uneasy about Milo. Lookalikes were one thing, but the resemblance between Milo and Riddle was too precise; it was uncanny.  
  
And even if the signs were against him, it wouldn’t hurt for Harry to keep an eye on Milo. Besides, he had made an agreement with Draco to put their past behind them, and what kind of person would he be if he let an _acquaintance_ be possibly manipulated by a possible pre-Dark Lord.  
  
Even on the map now, Draco and Milo’s dots were close together, tucked away in a corner of the library. Madame Pince was in her office, and they were otherwise alone.  
  
Harry held the map at arm’s length, his other hand resting on his stomach.  
  
It was odd, how close Draco and Milo were, considering they apparently hadn’t known each other for long.  
  
Harry’s hand lazily crept lower, pushing underneath his pyjama bottoms as he stared at their names on the map.  
  
What could two boys be doing all alone in the library at night?  
  
Harry wrapped his fingers around his semi-hard cock, stroking himself to stiffness. He watched Draco’s name, imagining that Draco was on his knees in front of Milo with his mouth around the other’s cock.  
  
Moving his fingers faster, sliding his hand up and down his length, Harry closed his eyes as he pictured Milo’s features morphing into Harry’s. It was Harry sliding his hands into Draco’s soft hair; it was Harry throwing his head back and moaning as Draco worked him with his mouth.  
  
Harry came quickly, arching his back as he muffled his moan with the map, pressing it against his mouth with his hand. He slowly pulled his other hand out of his pyjama bottoms, wiping the sticky residue on the fabric; he would charm it away later.  
  
Wide awake now, Harry held the Marauder’s Map at arms length again, looking at it but not really _seeing_ it. The name _Draco Malfoy_ was imprinted into his line of sight, and Harry’s leg was starting to feel sticky from where he had cleaned his hand.  
  
Harry was starting to realise that he liked boys as much as he liked girls, and he was ok with that. The Draco Malfoy thing was new, though.  
  
Before, when he and Draco had bickered and fought, Harry was distracted by how much he hated Draco. Now, when Draco was nobody to hate compared to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Harry was becoming aware that maybe he found Draco attractive.  
  
But they’d already agreed they wouldn’t be friends. Although, maybe pleasuring yourself to someone you used to hate and now tolerate wasn’t as weird as Harry was trying to make it. After all, it was only attraction; it wasn’t like Harry was actually going to _do_ anything about it.  
  
Besides, Draco would probably laugh in his face if he knew.  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Harry spent the next few weeks telling himself that noticing somebody’s attractiveness wasn’t anything significant. Dean used to have a Muggle poster of a topless woman on the wall by his bed, Seamus had a catalogue full of swimwear models, and Ron had a folder full of newspaper pictures of the female Chaser from the Chudley Cannons. It was just what people did - personality wasn’t relevant.  
  
And whenever Harry watched Draco and Milo, it was just to make sure that Milo wasn’t doing anything overtly suspicious. If he just so happened to notice the way Draco licked his fingers after eating his toast - only honey, no butter - or how a strand of Draco’s hair was longer than the rest and kept falling into his face, well, that was just a result of watching Milo so much.  
  
Because Milo, it seemed, never left Draco’s side. They were constantly together, in and out of lessons, detached from the other students around them. They were always so _close_ , literally, and it gave Harry a funny feeling in his stomach, like he had Snitches fluttering inside him.  
  
That being said, there were times when Draco would sit in the eighth year common room with a book, while Milo charmed the rest of Harry’s friends. Milo and Ron could play chess for hours, with Milo being the closest match to Ron that anyone had seen; Milo was apparently vegan and all for creature rights, and he and Hermione were working on a reform of S.P.E.W; and Milo loved discussing art with Dean, particularly Muggle artists such as Banksy.  
  
Draco was still an outsider, but everyone loved Milo - everyone but Harry.  
  
Milo was pleasant enough to Harry - usually more than pleasant. No matter how disinterested Harry tried to make himself, Milo would always smile, and touch Harry’s arm, and compliment him. He was never flirty with anyone else, and it always left Draco scowling; whether Draco was jealous or whether he just found flirting with Harry repulsive, Harry didn’t know.  
  
Harry wasn’t sure why, but he always found a stab of annoyance towards Milo whenever Draco reacted like that. Harry and Draco were polite enough to each other now, and sat next to one another in group therapy, but Draco always seemed to want Milo more.  
  
It made Harry wonder if Draco knew about Milo’s striking similarities to Tom Riddle.  
  
Harry was so wound up in his thoughts about it one day - at breakfast Milo had brushed crumbs away from the corner of Draco’s mouth with his thumb - that he walked into a student who had forgone their bag in an apparent attempt to practice a Levitating Charm, throwing their concentration off which sent all of their things dropping to the floor.  
  
By the time Harry had helped the student and fought off their excited attempt at conversation, he was late to Charms, and when he walked into the classroom he found that Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan were at his desk.  
  
“Sorry, Harry,” Justin squeaked when Harry stormed over to them, slowing down to act casual as he passed Draco and Milo. “I’ve been having problems seeing the blackboard from the front so I’ve had to move here. I’m getting assessed for glasses soon, though, so-”  
  
Harry grunted and turned away from Justin, trying to find another seat.  
  
Most of the seats were taken - Neville was sat with Hannah, and Dean was, surprisingly, with Bulstrode. The only desk remaining was one down on the other side from Draco and Milo, blocking them from his sight but putting him perfectly in line of theirs.  
  
It was fine at first. But once Professor Flitwick stopped talking and set them practicing Animation Charms on wooden toys, Harry could feel Draco and Milo’s eyes on him.  
  
They were talking in low voices, too quiet for Harry to decipher, but he swore that he heard his name mentioned at least twice.  
  
And when Flitwick distracted the class by swooning over Hermione’s toy duck which was now quacking and flying around the classroom, Harry distinctly heard Draco say, “it’s nice to be the ones watching his arse for a change.”  
  
Followed by Milo saying, “look at his hair. Imagine being _behind_ him and pulling on it.”  
  
Harry, who had been slouched over his desk, straightened rigidly in shock, knocking his wooden elephant to the floor and getting Flitwick’s attention in the process.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry muttered, feeling his cheeks flush red as he felt the eyes of the whole class on him.  
  
He Summoned the toy back to him, turning just enough to see Draco and Milo looking at him with twin smirks on their faces.  
  
Had they spotted him watching them, then? They obviously had, but what was being flirty and talking like _that_ going to achieve? Or did Milo just want to drive Harry insane so he couldn’t stop his evil plan? There was definitely something evil - or at least suspicious - going on; people never spoke about Harry like that.  
  
Harry, who had never been so happy for class to end, was the first out the door. He leant against the castle wall to wait for Ron and Hermione, but Draco and Milo beat them to it.  
  
“Pity you used a Summoning Charm,” Milo said as he stopped in front of Harry, glancing down at his thighs. “I wouldn’t have minded seeing you on all fours.”  
  
“What?!” Harry exclaimed loudly, barely noticing Draco narrowing his eyes at Milo as he walked off with a smirk on his face.  
  
Harry was still gawking when Ron and Hermione _finally_ came out.  
  
“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked cautiously as she spotted the expression on his face.  
  
“No,” he answered bluntly. “Come with me.”  
  
As expected, Ron and Hermione exchanged their customary look, but followed Harry to an empty classroom without question.  
  
“Milo’s coming on to me,” Harry announced after Ron shut the door. He wasn’t met with the horrified reactions he expected.  
  
“Do you...like that?” Ron asked slowly, hastily adding, “I don’t have a problem if you do!”  
  
“I always thought he liked you,” Hermione added casually. “Everyone thinks he and Malfoy are an item because of how close they are, but Milo’s always watching you, Harry.”  
  
How hadn’t Harry noticed Milo watching him? Then again, he and Ginny had kept missing each other looking when they had been pining for one another, so maybe it was easy to miss.  
  
But Ginny wasn’t the reincarnation of a young Voldemort, so it was a lot worse to know what Milo had been doing.  
  
“I don’t like it,” Harry stated firmly, finally answering Ron’s question. “Do you think he’s trying to seduce me to his side?”  
  
“What side?!” Hermione sounded exasperated, and she fixed Harry with a stern look. “Milo is a nice boy. He gets on with everyone - even Muggle-borns - and does well in lessons. If he’s coming on to you it’s because he’s interested in _you_ ; you’re good looking, Harry, it’s perfectly reasonable for him to have a crush on you.”  
  
“Not as good looking as me, though, right?” Ron grinned, leaning in to kiss Hermione’s cheek.  
  
“Of course not,” she reassured him.  
  
Though Ron and Hermione frustrated him sometimes with their unwillingness to see things that weren’t right in front of them, Harry did love his friends. And more than that, he loved that they were happy together.  
  
Harry wanted that - to have somebody to be happy with, to be completely relaxed and comfortable around. He wondered if Draco and Milo were happy together.  
  
Other people had clearly jumped to that conclusion based on how close they were, and the idea made Harry’s stomach sink. For Draco’s sake, of course.  
  


  
***

  
  
  
“I’ve been talking to a boy named Dean,” Bulstrode mumbled, not taking her eyes off the floor but talking louder than she had the first therapy session. “He suggested doing art but I don’t have the patience for it and it makes me mad when I colour outside the lines. Then Dean told me about this Muggle American sport, roller rerby, where you wear these things called roller skates and ram into each other; there are other rules but that seemed the most fun part. I was thinking I might set up a team here.”  
  
“Yes, that’s a great idea,” Ceri said, beaming. “Sports can be a wonderful way of channeling emotions and making new friends. Speaking of, next session I’ll be pairing you up for some therapeutic activities, so I’ll see you then; I think you’re going to enjoy it. Remember, any issues in the meantime and you can come and see me in my office.”  
  
As the group began to disperse, Draco reached for Harry’s arm. He only held it for a moment, but Harry could still feel the warmth from Draco’s fingers long after he let go.  
  
“Do you want to go flying?” Draco asked, walking from the room without waiting for Harry’s answer, and Harry took the cue to follow him.  
  
Draco obviously predicted what Harry would do, because he continued speaking without turning around to check that Harry was still there. “I haven’t been on a broom for ages, not since...And Milo thinks brooms are childish, or some nonsense like that, and I figured you’re probably closest to my skill when it comes to flying.”  
  
“Closest as in above your skill level? I’ve beaten you in every match, you know,” Harry pointed out with a grin.  
  
Truthfully, though, Harry did miss flying. McGonagall hadn’t allowed eighth years to play on the school teams in order to give younger students a chance, and Harry hadn’t had a reason to go on a broom otherwise.  
  
They walked side-by-side to the Quidditch pitch, which miraculously didn’t look as though it had practically been destroyed only months ago. Walking with Draco felt like walking with a friend, with a comfortable silence between them. Their hands kept brushing lightly as they walked, and neither of them made a move to stop it.  
  
“You know,” Draco said as they retrieved their brooms from the broom-shed, “if Millicent can set up some team, I think we should set up a non-competitive flying club.”  
  
“We?” Harry repeated, raising a brow.  
  
Draco’s cheeks took a pale pink tinge to them. “Well it was my idea, but people aren’t going to listen to someone with a Dark Mark, are they?”  
  
“I would. Ceri, too,” Harry listed, counting off of his fingers. “McGonagall is going to need convincing no matter who asks but she’ll come round-”  
  
“Potter,” Draco cut in, swinging his leg over his broom. “Harry, whoever; I bet I can beat you to the treeline.”  
  
“But you’re…!” Harry declared as Draco zoomed passed him. “That’s cheating!”  
  
But realising that calling a Slytherin a cheat wasn’t going to help him win, Harry quickly jumped on his own broom and raced after Draco.  
  
Merlin, Harry had missed being in the air. There had been a part of him that had wondered if flying would be a tainted memory now, after the Fiendfyre, the Gringott’s dragon, and Hedwig, but even those memories couldn’t keep the familiar adrenaline at bay.  
  
The wind was biting cold at his skin, and blowing his hair in all directions. It was exhilarating and lively, like the first time Harry had ever ridden a broom. And there was Draco just ahead of him, his hair gleaming in the autumn sun, leaning forward on his broom with determination to beat Harry.  
  
Harry was so close to overtaking him now, just an inch to go…  
  
He let out a cheer as he left Draco behind, spinning around with a triumphant grin as he reached the treeline first. He couldn’t help but laugh at the sour look on Draco’s face.  
  
“I let you win,” Draco stated plainly, tilting his chin up. “It’s the least I could do for you after you got rid of the dear Dark Lord.”  
  
Harry’s glee faded slightly as Tom’s, and probably Milo’s, face popped into his mind. He managed a smile for Draco.  
  
“It’s appreciated,” he said. “Want a headstart back to the Quidditch pitch?”  
  
Milo was waiting when they got there, and Harry saw the dark look that crossed over Draco’s face for a split-second after he, too, spotted him.  
  
Harry’s instinct was to be pleased that Draco wasn’t as thrilled with Milo as he had thought, but then came a more concerned thought: why?  
  
“You were supposed to meet me in the library, Draco” Milo said as Draco landed beside him. His dark green eyes landed on Harry, and a smirk came to his face. “Found someone - sorry, some _thing_ more interesting to do, did we?”  
  
“We were flying,” Harry defended hotly, not quite sure what it was he was defending. “It’s therapeutic.”  
  
“I suppose if riding brooms is your thing,” Milo mused, reaching out to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Did Draco let you ride his _broom_?”  
  
It was said so casually, but Harry couldn’t stop his cheeks from flushing red at the innuendo.  
  
“It’s bigger than yours, at any rate, Milo,” Draco countered. Harry’s cheeks burned harder.  
  
He chanced a look at Draco, whose cheeks were pink and hair was windswept. Draco was focused entirely on Milo, an unreadable expression on his face, and Harry felt that fluttering feeling in his stomach again. He stepped back, Milo’s arm dropping from his shoulder.  
  
The air was thick with tension, and Harry couldn’t bare it any longer.  
  
“I’ll let you two be going, then,” he murmured, hurrying off before they could answer him, and hoping they hadn’t noticed the bulge that had been forming under his trousers.  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Hermione was sat with a surprising group when Harry found her in the girl’s common room. Hermione, Millicent, Padma, Hannah, and Lisa Turpin from Ravenclaw, were sat around a table surrounded by pieces of parchment.  
  
“Sorry, Harry, this is for girls only,” Hannah said apologetically as she saw him approach. “Roller derby is meant to encourage femininity in sports, and allow us to show aggression when society doesn’t let us otherwise.”  
  
“Er, I’m here for Hermione, actually,” Harry stated, pointing towards his friend. “It sounds great what you’re doing, though; very… _inspiring_. Hermione?”  
  
Hermione excused herself, following Harry to his the main common room.  
  
“So, roller derby, Hermione?” Harry asked with a grin. “From what I’ve heard, it’s pretty full-impact, isn’t it?”  
  
Hermione flushed, shaking her head as she smiled. “Full-impact and on roller skates,” she added. “But Millicent thought it would be a nice idea for the girls to do something together, and I said I’d give it a go. Millicent isn’t so bad, really; dreadfully shy, but she’s getting better. Now what’s wrong with you? Please don’t tell me this is about Milo again.”  
  
Harry told her about the encounter he had just had with Draco and Milo, and how Draco had reacted.  
  
“I just can’t work them out,” Harry ranted, pacing the length of the room. “Why does Milo keep talking to me like this? And is Draco jealous because he wants Milo to notice _him_? But they’re always together, and he didn’t look very happy when he saw Milo waiting, so why would Draco want even more of his attention? Do you think Milo’s trying to manipulate Draco but Draco’s not having it?”  
  
“Manipulate him into what?!” Hermione sounded exasperated, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “Harry, Milo is not Tom Riddle; you saw the documents and photos yourself. Milo is a very nice person and everyone likes him; he isn’t out to do evil.”  
  
“Do you know who else was charming and well liked at school? Tom Riddle, that’s who,” Harry argued, stopping in his pacing and folding his arms over his chest. “And he knows I’m harder to charm so he has to go all out with me. Oh, do you think Draco wasn’t happy to see Milo because he knew how he’d act around me? I know me and Draco are friendly now, but maybe he thinks flirting with me is a horrible thing to do.”  
  
Hermione’s annoyance at Harry faded almost instantaneously, replaced with a look of tender amusement.  
  
“What?” Harry questioned hotly.  
  
“Do you really not see it, Harry?” Hermione laughed. “Maybe if you stop fixating on Milo so much you’ll see what’s going on with them.”  
  
Harry sighed. “Is that your way of saying you won’t tell me?”  
  
Hermione nodded, her lips spread in a thin smile.  
  
“Stop fixating on Milo so much,” she repeated. “And then you might find your answer.”  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Harry stood with Draco in a corner of the room, waiting for further instructions from Ceri. They had been instructed to find a partner and a space in the room, far enough apart from other pairs.  
  
To Harry’s surprise, Draco had quickly chosen Harry - or maybe it wasn’t so surprising anymore. There was obviously something between him, Draco, and Milo; it was just that Harry wasn’t quite sure what that was.  
  
“Everyone ready?” Ceri asked, smiling brightly. After he was answered by several nods, he pressed on saying, “well today we’re doing something a bit different. We’ll be doing some trust and relationship building exercises; after all, companionship is very important, especially when you might be struggling with things. I know there are things you might not want to share in a group, so an individual support system can be very helpful. Not to mention, these exercises can help you learn empathy skills, understanding, and respect for others. The first one we’re going to try is very cliche in the Muggle world, but there’s a reason it’s so popular - the trust fall. Basically, you stand in front of your partner and fall backwards, and they catch you. Take it in turns, and take your time; trust isn’t always easy but it can be gained through mutual understanding.”  
  
Harry looked at Draco, who was staring at Ceri with wide eyes.  
  
“This should be interesting,” Draco muttered under his breath, glancing at Harry through narrowed eyes.  
  
“Don’t you trust me?” Harry retorted, half-joking. The thought of Draco not trusting him twisted his stomach, but then Harry had to think - did he trust Draco?  
  
“Quite the contrary,” Draco scoffed. “If I could trust anyone to save someone, even someone undeserving, it would be you; I heard you even tried for a bit of compassion for the Dark Lord at the end. But what I wonder, Pot-Harry, is can you trust an ex-Death Eater, even after all your talk of forgiveness?”  
  
Draco’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but had a hint of uncertainty to it. Harry had to wonder, did Draco want Harry to trust him? Did Milo think Harry would be more easily swayed if Draco got on his good side?  
  
But what was it Hermione had said? Forget about Milo and he’d see the truth. And if there was no Milo, surely Draco would still be saying the same things - he wanted redemption.  
  
Not answering Draco, knowing words wouldn’t be enough, Harry moved to stand in front of him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Ready?” he said, letting Draco know that he was about to fall, just before he did.  
  
Harry fell back, and in just that split-second moment, Harry felt no fear despite the way his stomach dropped instinctively. Harry knew in his head that Draco would catch him, and Draco did.  
  
Draco’s arms were warm around him, tight around his body. He was looking down at Harry with a gentle look in his grey eyes, blinking as soft-looking strands of blond hair fell into his eyes. Harry looked back up at him, and for a moment time seemed to freeze.  
  
It was in that moment when Harry couldn’t think about anything else - not Milo, not his friends, not the people around him - that Harry realised he had feelings for Draco. He already knew he found Draco attractive, but suddenly the horrible stomach fluttering, the jealousy - it all made sense.  
  
“Er, it’s your turn now,” Harry said, jolting out of Draco’s arms.  
  
For a second he thought he saw a flash of hurt on Draco’s face, but Harry moved too fast to confirm. Harry had always been awful at dealing with crushes.  
  
They switched places, and Draco fell back without a moment’s hesitation. And even as he easily caught Draco, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the deep trust Draco obviously had in him. Their feelings towards one another were complicated and ever-changing, too much for Harry to understand, but what he did understand was that Draco had complete faith in Harry. That felt wonderful.  
  
Almost as wonderful as it felt to have Draco in his arms - at least until Ceri ruined the moment.  
  
“Great work, you two,” Ceri beamed, handing them a blindfold. “When you’re ready, I want one of you to wear the blindfold, while the other leads you around the room by the hand.”  
  
Harry reached for the blindfold and slipped it over as his eyes, but as soon as darkness closed in around him an unexpected wave of panic washed over him. He felt so closed off and restricted, locked away from the world.  
  
He blinked rapidly as the blindfold was ripped from his face, unclenching his fists which he hadn’t even noticed he had done.  
  
Draco was looking at him anxiously, the blindfold clutched tightly in his fingers.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled when an equally concerned looking Ceri approached them again. “I didn’t realise I’d...I don’t like feeling closed off. It’s like being back in…” He left the words ‘the cupboard under the stairs’ unsaid.  
  
“It’s alright, Harry; don’t worry,” Ceri said reassuringly. “These exercises aren’t mandatory. Besides, you, Draco, saw his reaction and quickly responded; that’s some wonderful empathy and understanding there. If you want to talk in private, come and see me later, Harry. My door’s always open.”  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Harry didn’t go to see Ceri later on, but he did set out with the intention of talking to Draco.  
  
According to the Marauder’s Map, Draco and Milo were down by the lakeside, so Harry headed down with a determined stride.  
  
He was glad he brought his map with him, because Draco and Milo had hidden themselves away behind trees. Harry’s mind, naturally, was whirring with ideas as to _why_ they’d want to hide. Were they kissing? Were they planning evil? Were they planning evil while kissing?  
  
Because even if Harry trusted that Draco wasn’t going to willingly do evil, it didn’t mean he trusted Milo not to manipulate him. After all, Riddle had gained legions of followers through charm and manipulation, and later fear.  
  
Though Milo didn’t particularly sound charming when Harry stealthily edged towards them. Draco and Milo were arguing; not loud enough to draw attention from the the other students who were lounging outside, but loud enough that Harry could clearly hear every word from his position the other side of the trees.  
  
“I’ve had enough, Draco,” Milo hissed, and Harry wondered how all his worshippers would react if they could hear him now. “You’re pathetic; all talk and no action. It’s infuriating watching you sit around doing _nothing_.”  
  
Though one part of Harry was thrilled that Milo had finally revealed a cold, harsh side that would make for convincing Riddle evidence, he also couldn’t help but be concerned for Draco. Was Draco refusing to do something evil for Milo? Harry knew that by the age of seventeen, Riddle had murdered four people and gotten away with it, so what would killing Draco be to Milo, if it came to it, and if he was indeed Tom Riddle? Which, to be honest, was most likely true.  
  
“I’m biding my time,” Draco spat back. “I can’t just-”  
  
The rest of his words were drowned out by Milo’s humourless laugh.  
  
“Biding your time? It’s been _years_.” Milo sounded fed up. “All these weeks I’ve been pushing you, encouraging you, and for what? I’m trying to be a good friend, Draco; don’t you even care about that?”  
  
Milo speaking of _years_ piqued Harry’s curiosity. It had certainly thrown off Harry’s theory about Milo manipulating Draco into evil, unless this whole thing had been planned by Voldemort long ago.  
  
“You don’t help!” Draco cried; Harry could imagine him stomping or throwing his hands in the air. “It’s _confusing_ him.”  
  
“Well,” Milo said, sounding far too calm and pleased for Harry’s liking. “Let’s go and find him and clear the air.”  
  
Harry could hear Draco protesting over the sound of rustling bushes, and Harry found himself frozen to the spot as Milo emerged from behind the trees.  
  
Milo’s wide smile at seeing him was incredibly unnerving. “Just the person I wanted to see,” Milo said.  
  
Draco appeared just as Milo Summoned Harry - non-verbally and without a wand - towards him, before Milo span Harry round and pressed him against a tree.  
  
Harry didn’t even have time to reach for his wand before Milo pinned his arms above his head and began kissing him.  
  
Harry felt his muscles tense, and his entire body go rigid, as Milo’s lips moved viciously against his own. Harry tried to squirm and move his head away, but Milo had him stuck firmly in place.  
  
“Milo, stop!” Harry heard Draco cry. “He doesn’t want you!”  
  
Finally, Milo pulled back from Harry. “Do something about it then!” Milo snarled. “Otherwise he’s mine.”  
  
“I’m really not,” Harry said weakly, feeling incredibly closed in by Milo’s imposing height and his vice-like grip on his wrists.  
  
“Shut up,” Milo hissed. “I’m trying to help Draco.”  
  
“But-” Harry started to protest, but Milo took advantage of Harry’s open mouth to kiss him again, this time sliding his tongue inside Harry’s mouth, cold and invasive.  
  
Just as Harry was considering biting Milo’s tongue - and perhaps that would send Milo into a fit of rage against Harry which he could then use as Riddle evidence - Milo was torn away from him and Draco had taken his place.  
  
And where Milo had been towering and domineering, and rather vicious, Draco was the opposite. Draco and Harry were the same height, and Draco’s hands were soft on Harry’s chest. They were equal, well-matched, and Harry’s discomfort from Milo had melted away instantly.  
  
“Sorry about Milo,” Draco said softly. “He means well but he’s not very good at it.”  
  
Milo scoffed behind him.  
  
“And you?” Harry asked, looking down at Draco’s hands on his chest. He lowered his own hands, daring to hover them over Draco’s hips. When Draco didn’t protest, Harry held onto them, pulling Draco flush against him.  
  
“I’m trying,” Draco murmured. “Like Milo says, I can talk but I’m not so good at doing.” Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he opened them again. “Can I kiss you?”  
  
Harry nodded, hardly daring to breathe as Draco leant in and pressed their lips together.  
  
Draco’s mouth was gentle but sure, moving more as Harry responded to him. Draco’s lips were warm and tasted like mint, and were soft and pliant as Harry caught Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulled.  
  
“Really? This is enjoyable for you both?” Milo’s voice drifted over, which led to Draco reluctantly pulling away from Harry.  
  
“Why are you still here?” Draco asked exasperatedly. “And for the record, yes, this is enjoyable.”  
  
“It’s better when you don’t force someone against a tree and kiss them against their will,” Harry bitterly added.  
  
Milo simply smirked. “I want to make sure you don’t ruin this, Draco. What did I tell you the first time I met you, Harry? That Draco never shut up about you. I got so frustrated of him pining over you but doing nothing that I had to step in. Unfortunately, flirting with you proved that you were jealous but easily confused. Honestly, it’s like dealing with children.”  
  
“Lucky for you we’re sorted now,” Draco retorted, glancing cautiously at Harry who offered him a subtle nod. “If you want to stay, just...I don’t know, look at the lake or something.”  
  
Milo muttered something under his breath as he turned away from them and sat by the edge of the lake. He truly was a strange bloke, but all thoughts of Milo were driven out of Harry’s head as Draco kissed him once more.  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Finally being with Draco, without the confused feelings and not knowing where he stood, felt amazing.  
  
The tension that had been between them had melted easily away, like they were meant to fit together. Kissing Draco had become Harry’s favourite thing in the world, and Harry couldn’t get enough of his touch. Harry hadn’t grown up with physical affection, whereas Draco had. Draco loved to hold hands and cuddle, and Harry was quickly learning why Draco liked it; being close to Draco made him feel safe and cared for.  
  
Of course, their more frequent proximity to one another had brought their argumentative side back out. It was only ever over small, silly things, though, like the quality of the Quibbler, or the different ways they pronounced the same word. They never argued for long, though, and it was usually followed by a heavy make out session.  
  
Milo was the main problem Harry had run into.  
  
It wasn’t that Milo was doing anything wrong, per se; it was more that he hardly ever left them alone. At first, Harry had been glad for his close proximity to Milo because it gave him chance to spy, but it soon became apparent that Milo wasn’t doing anything overtly evil and was simply very… _clingy_.  
  
It quickly became obvious to Harry that the reason for Draco and Milo’s prior closeness had been all down to Milo. Even with Harry around, Milo didn’t leave them alone for long, and when he was around them he acted strangely.  
  
Milo didn’t seem to have any concept of personal space, he had gotten into a habit of randomly kissing each of them because he said he found kissing _curious_ , and he was fond of watching them when they made out. Milo couldn’t seem to wrap his head around their relationship, saying he didn’t understand why people wanted to date.  
  
To Harry, this just made Milo seem even more Riddle-like, but he couldn’t relay this to his friends because they didn’t know that he was dating Draco. While they all loved Milo, Draco wasn’t exactly popular amongst the eighth years. Ron and Hermione simply thought Harry had pretended to befriend Draco and Milo in order to spy on them.  
  
But at least they didn’t ask questions when he spent time in Draco’s room - which was an enjoyable place to be while Milo charmed the other eighth years on the occasions he decided he needed to keep up appearances.  
  
Which was why Harry and Draco had taken advantage of the privacy to lounge on Draco’s bed, while Milo played chess with Ron.  
  
Harry straddled Draco’s hips, pressing their bodies flush together as they kissed. Draco’s hands slid through Harry’s hair, pulling him even closer. Harry could feel himself quickly growing hard, encouraged by Draco’s own erection pressing against Harry’s hip.  
  
Harry moved his lips down Draco’s jaw and across his neck, sucking lightly on the soft skin. Draco moaned in response and arched his back, dropping his hands down between them to fumble with their zippers and push their trousers and boxers down just enough to free their erections.  
  
Harry buried his face in Draco’s shoulders when their bare cocks finally brushed against one another. Draco murmured a lubrication spell and wrapped his slick fingers around both their lengths, as Harry rutted against him.  
  
It was fast and frantic, slick and hot, and the air felt sticky and smelt like sex. The intimacy, the passion...the desperation; it didn’t just let Harry show Draco how much he wanted him, but it let Harry know that Draco wanted him, too.  
  
They came together, rocking their hips and grinding as they finished each other off. Draco tilted Harry’s head away from his shoulder so he could kiss him again, lazier this time, with sweet, short kisses.  
  
Harry slumped against Draco’s chest, ready to chill out in his post-orgasmic haze, until a cough - coming from neither him nor Draco - sent him bolting up, resulting in him falling from the bed.  
  
Harry’s cheeks flushed red as Draco began laughing, sounding far too happy considering there was someone else in the room with them.  
  
Harry emerged from behind the bed, wincing at the soreness of his arse from the fall. He took advantage of the privacy from the bed to readjust his clothes and charm away the stickiness, glaring at Milo as he did so.  
  
Milo didn’t look amused or spiteful, or even embarrassed; instead he was just perched on the egde of his bed as he looked through a box of chess pieces.  
  
“What the fuck?” Harry growled, really not seeing the funny side of things like Draco. “Don’t you know how to knock?” Harry assumed Milo hadn’t knocked; he hadn’t even heard the door opening.  
  
Milo looked up after a moment’s pause. “Are you talking to me? Why would I have knocked? Surely it would have been rude to interrupt?”  
  
“Don’t mind Milo, Harry,” Draco murmured gently, his clothes readjusted and impeccable as he leaned against the headboard with his hands behind his head. “Sex isn’t a big deal to him; he’s walked in on me wanking so many times now I don’t care anymore.”  
  
Harry gawked. “Is that supposed to help?”  
  
“I don’t see the problem, really, ” Milo mused. “I don’t have any sexual interest - towards people or for the acts themselves. To me, this is no different to seeing you playing chess. Talking of which, I have left Ron in a precarious position so if you don’t mind…”  
  
Harry stared as Milo strode from the room without another word.  
  
“You know, I think Milo is the strangest person I know, and that’s saying something considering I’m dating you,” Draco joked, chuckling to himself. “Honestly; jumping off the bed? You know how to be dramatic, Harry.”  
  
“He doesn’t like sex,” Harry stated simply, still staring at the door. “He doesn’t like sex _or_ romance.”  
  
“So?” Draco wasn’t laughing anymore. “Not everyone does. Pansy doesn’t.”  
  
“Neither did Voldemort,” Harry pointed out, deciding now was as good a time as any to fill Draco in on his theory. “Did you ever see Tom Riddle? As in young Voldemort, I mean.”  
  
Draco shook his head.  
  
“Well I did, and Milo is the spitting image of him,” Harry murmured, lowering his voice and glancing at the door again. “Not to mention he’s overly tall, has no boundaries, is fond of manipulating people via charm, and apparently has no sex drive or romantic interest - they’re all Riddle traits.”  
  
Draco considered him for a moment. “Milo’s just...odd. How could the young version of _him_ be here? You killed him, didn’t you? Properly killed him?”  
  
“Well, yes,” Harry answered awkwardly, noting the tone of fear in Draco’s voice at the possibility that Voldemort might return. “But there could be any reason for his re-appearance; I’m thinking some form of time-travel.”  
  
“I’ve not heard of any way to travel into the future.” Draco must have seen Harry’s face fall, because he hastily added, “I’m not saying I don’t believe you; I’m just saying I’m going to _postpone_ my belief until you get some solid proof or evidence.”  
  
It wasn’t much, but it was more than Harry had gotten from any of his friends.  
  
And now he had even more motivation to unfold the truth.  
  


  
***

  
  
  
Harry could do nothing but stare when he walked into Draco’s room and saw Milo talking to a snake.  
  
Since the Horcrux in him had been destroyed, Harry had lost the ability to speak Parseltongue, so he could now appreciate how creepy it actually sounded. Though that creep factor could also have been due to the fact that Harry and Voldemort had been the only known Parselmouths in the world, and theoretically that meant that nobody else should be able to speak it. But Milo was.  
  
“Oh, hello, Harry. Draco should be here soon,” Milo murmured, offering Harry a smile before turning his attention back to the small grass snake curled around his arm. “Is there a problem?” Milo asked after a moment, realising that Harry was staring helplessly at him.  
  
“You,” was all Harry was able to say, because this was finally definite proof that Milo was Riddle - at least it was _almost_ definite proof - because even if there was a possibility that other Parselmouths existed under the radar, what were the chances that one would be a Tom Riddle replica?  
  
“Ah, Harry.” Draco entered the room, giving Harry’s arse a light smack as he walked in and threw his bag onto his bed before collapsing onto it, completely oblivious to Milo talking to a snake. He did, at least, notice Harry’s mood. “What’s wrong with you?”  
  
“Your roommate is talking to a snake,” Harry said, gesturing towards the pair. “Do you know who else talked to snakes?”  
  
“You?” Draco answered, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this part of your ‘Milo-is-Tom-Riddle’ theory? I’m sure plenty of Parselmouths exist; they probably don’t admit it because of the stigma.”  
  
“But how many of them _look_ like Riddle?” Harry pointed out, aware that Milo was watching him curiously.  
  
“Harry, he’s not-” Draco started, but Milo cut in before he could finish.  
  
“Oh I am,” Milo said casually, petting the snake lightly.  
  
Harry and Draco stared.  
  
“What?” Harry said, not entirely sure that he had heard Milo correctly.  
  
“I said that I am Tom Riddle,” Milo replied, striding over to Harry and throwing his arm around his shoulder. Harry tried to squirm away, but Milo had a tight hold on him. “It was odd; I have memories of my life before I arrived in this time, but I don’t know exactly how I got here. I remember waking up in the Forbidden Forest - incidentally while they were carrying your body out of the forest, Harry - and there was a black stone pressing against my hand.”  
  
“What stone?” Harry asked faintly, his eyes widening when Milo pulled the Resurrection Stone from under his shirt, attached to a chain that Harry had always seen Milo wear but had never deemed important enough to care about it..  
  
“Your reaction tells me you know exactly what this is,” Milo said with a smile. “I watched what went on at the Battle and knew I wouldn’t be accepted, so I forged documents and did a lot of memory magic at Durmstrang so it was like I existed there all my life. I didn’t count on you or that Weasley girl recognising me, but a Confundus charm worked wonders on Ginny, and everyone else thought you were simply paranoid so that worked well enough for me.”  
  
“And now you’re here to finish what Voldemort started,” Harry stated simply, hanging his head. Why did his friends never believe him, despite his history of being terribly right?  
  
To Harry’s surprise, Milo chuckled. “Not at all. Did you see what happened to Voldemort? He died younger that even mere Muggles do. He was weak and consumed by obsession over you. No, the real evil lies in politics and the Ministry; I’ll make the public fall in love with me and take control through charm and clever politics.”  
  
“Not if I run against you,” Harry argued, puffing his chest out. Despite now knowing that Milo was undoubtedly Tom Riddle, Harry didn’t feel the need to fight him. It wouldn’t get him anywhere - Milo had obviously learnt from Voldemort’s mistakes, and Harry would have to fight him a different way. Plus he had grown to kind of be attached to the strange personality that Milo had, despite how much it irritated Harry.  
  
“The public already love me; I’m a hero,” he added smugly. “I’ll get to be Minister of Magic before you do.”  
  
“I’d like to see you try,” Milo sneered. “You’re lovable but not in a Minister kind of way. The best hope you have is becoming my errand boy when I get into power.”  
  
“Alright; I don’t know what the fuck is going on here,” Draco finally perked up, looking between Harry and Milo with horrified eyes. “I don’t know what’s worse - that you’re a resurrected teenage Dark Lord, or that Harry wants to run against you in the Ministry; you’re awful at politics, Harry, you know that. Maybe I’ll have to go into the running, too; everyone loves a redeemed villain.”  
  
“Not really,” Harry shrugged. “But they do love rich aristocrats, especially when they give good bribes, so you may have a chance.”  
  
“Lovely,” Milo said, finally releasing Harry. “I look forward to running against you both.”  
  


  
***

  
  
  
“Harry! Harry!”  
  
Harry looked up from his seat on the sofa in the common room, as Hermione and Ron came running in with stricken looks on their faces.  
  
Harry was on his feet in an instant.  
  
“What’s wrong?” He met Ron and Hermione half-way across the room.  
  
“We were in the trophy room,” Ron hissed under his breath, aware that several faces were looking at them curiously. “And on that special award where Riddle’s name used to be...it now says Milo Tredd.”  
  
Hermione nodded solemnly. “I’ve heard of spells where you can change written versions of your name to another...it’s a rare Dark spell, used by the most advanced criminals who are trying to change their records or hide evidence. It’s sort of like the taboo Voldemort put on his name, in a sense. But what we’re trying to say, Harry, is-”  
  
“We believe you,” Ron finished.  
  
Harry couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing.  
  
Ron and Hermione exchanged confused looks.  
  
“I’ve worked things out with Milo; he’s fine,” Harry said, flashing his friends a reassuring grin. “I mean, you’re right - I’ve always been right - but Milo’s fine; we have an understanding.”  
  
“An _understanding_?” Hermione asked slowly, just as Milo walked into the common room.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all turned to look at him, and he smiled and waved.  
  
“He’s decided to put his evil into politics,” Harry explained, lowering his voice as Milo approached them. “But I’m going to run against him so he can’t get into power.”  
  
“Harry…?” Ron enquired, his voice fading into a squeak as Milo finally reached them.  
  
Milo looked at them all, his face void of emotion. Then he grabbed Harry’s shirt and pulled him into a kiss.  
  
Harry could feel the eyes of everyone in the common room on him and Milo. He didn’t even bother squirming against Milo, used to his weird affection displays by now, and shot his friends an awkward smile once Milo released him.  
  
“Oh,” Hermione said as Milo strolled away to his bedroom without another word.  
  
“It’s not,” Harry started, holding his hands in the air defensively, “it’s not...he...we’re not...I’m not dating Milo.”  
  
“Casual relationships aren’t anything to be ashamed of,” Padma perked up; apparently the conversation wasn’t between just the three of them anymore.  
  
“But we’re not-” Harry tried to defend until Ron cut in.  
  
“Who was in your bed the other night, then? You forgot to put up a Silencing Charm.”  
  
Harry’s cheeks flushed as red as Ron’s were.  
  
“It wasn’t Milo,” Harry admitted with a sigh. Everyone loved Milo, and would probably accept him and Harry dating, but Harry was dating Draco, and Draco wasn’t exactly well-liked amongst Harry’s friends. He took a deep breath. “I’m seeing Draco.”  
  
There was a moment when nobody seemed to move. Ron’s eyes were impossibly wide, Hermione’s mouth was open, and everyone was staring at him. Until…  
  
“Called it,” Padma said.  
  
“Told you,” Millicent murmured, shoving Dean lightly in the shoulder. “Pay up.”  
  
“Please just remember the Silencing Charm next time,” Ron begged, before grinning and clapping him on the shoulder.  
  
From then on, Draco became one of the group.  
  
The eighth year girls made their roller derby team, along with some of the sixth and seventh years, led by Millicent who finally had an outlet for her inner rage as well as a way to gain confidence. Houses didn’t matter in eighth year anymore; Hannah and Neville, Millicent and Dean, Harry and Draco - they were breaking through old barriers and setting a great example, according to McGonagall.  
  
And, thankfully, nobody queried why Milo spent most of his time with Harry and Draco, or why he kissed them sometimes. He was just the quirky transfer student who had brought all the students together and gave Slytherin house the good reputation it had so badly needed.  
  
Milo being a resurrected Tom Riddle was a secret, kept between Harry and his friends. What the other students didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.  
  
Harry theorised that when he returned from the Killing Curse induced Kings Cross station, the nearby Resurrection Stone had somehow picked up on lingering fragments of Riddle’s soul and brought him back, but Harry couldn’t be sure.  
  
All he knew was that Milo might be Tom Riddle, but he wasn’t Voldemort, and that was all that mattered.  
  


  
***

  
  
  
The cottage was light and airy, with large bay windows looking out onto lush green fields. It was decorated in gentle shades of cream and pale green, with accents of gold.  
  
“It’s lovely,” Harry stated, fixing Draco with a smile. “It’s a decent size, good area…”  
  
“And this one doesn’t smell funny like the last one,” Draco agreed. “It’s the best so far.”  
  
“I don’t like it,” Milo drawled as he came out of the second bedroom. “That room’s far too small, and you can hear the river with the window open; it’s irritating.”  
  
Harry and Draco shared a look, and Draco rolled his eyes.  
  
“You know, Milo,” Harry said sharply. “You don’t _have_ to live with us.”  
  
“ _We_ really like this house,” Draco added. “I’m sure you could find one that suits _your_ needs.”  
  
Milo chuckled lowly. “You two are so cute. The next house on the list is a converted barn; that’s supposedly very stylish nowadays. If we want high positions within the Ministry, every inch of us must present a stylish image - we need to appeal to the masses.  
  
Draco grumbled something under his breath, and Summoned the house listing from Milo.  
  
“One more,” he stated, pointing his finger at Milo. “And if that’s no good we’re going for this one.”  
  
It turned out that Draco and Harry both liked the converted barn a lot more.  
  
Which was how Draco and Harry ended up buying their first house together after graduation, with Milo tagging along with them. They hadn’t been able to convince him to get his own place; what Milo wanted, Milo got, and Milo wanted to live with them.  
  
But aside from having the equivalent of a human puppy living with them, living with Draco was pretty close to perfect. And having Milo so close wasn’t so bad; it meant Harry could keep an eye that Milo’s Voldemort side wasn’t going to come out.  
  
And really, Harry was happier than he had ever been.

**Author's Note:**

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